


Days In The Sun

by orphan_account



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: All relationships are platonic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Childhood Friends, Female Reader, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid!Guzma, Kid!Kukui, Neurodivergent Reader, Pokemon Trials, Pre-Relationship, Reader Kukui & Guzma are classmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 19:17:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16980258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Days in the sun will return,We must believe, as lover do.That days in the sun,Will come shining through.You move to Alola as a child, and meet two boys who change your life.One becomes your closest friend.The other...That other boy...





	Days In The Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by: Days in the Sun (Adam Mitchell - Beauty and the Beast)
> 
> Currently, all relationships are platonic.
> 
> Welcome to the first story of my Our Song Series, a series dedicated to a Reader Insert/Guzma headcanon verse I plan on expanding. This is sort of the lead in. The rest of the series will take place after You (the reader) have left Alola to study and then returned.
> 
> This is a Soulmate universe.
> 
> Not beta'd, we die like...shy lonely people too timid to find one? Aheh.

You meet them in primary school. One is kind, and flamboyant, and tan. His name is Kukui, but it’s hard to say. You you didn’t grow up in Alola, and you found your tongue tying up around some names; he fell into that unfortunate category. You call him Cookie, and he laughs a little and tries to teach you  _ Kukui _ correctly. You continue to fail, and he decides Cookie works. 

 

This is how you meet  _ him _ . This boy is too tall for his own good, and grins down at you two with too many teeth. His hair is messy and curly and too long, and his uniform looks too short. He calls you stupid, because how hard is Kukui to say? He dares you to try to try and say his name. Kukui, bless him, tries to step in between the two of you. 

 

“It’s okay, cuz,” he placates. “You’ll learn to say it! Some names are hard, you know? Come on, Guz, no need to harass her.”

 

“Guzma,” you say. You’re quiet when you say it, but your face is twisted and determined. Both boys turn to look at you, and your grumpy face and damp eyes and balled fists. Your fingers wrinkle the ends of your uniform skirt where they grip it, and you’re shaking. Neither of them say anything. “ _ Guz-ma _ ,” you repeat, careful with the syllables. “You are  _ a mean boy _ .”

 

“Hey,” Kukui looks stressed. He looks between the two of you. “Dudes, it’s cool.”

 

“Huh,” says Guzma. He stands up to his full height. Which, to you, is a whole lot more than  _ you _ can stand up. He dwarfs Kukui even. “Not as shit for brains as you look.”

 

“That’s a bad word!” Kukui shouts, which draws the teacher’s attention. Kukui looks abashed at inadvertently tattling. Guzma throws an absolute  _ fit _ about his detention. And you shake, and grit your teeth against your own stutter, and hope that you never have a another class with  _ that  _ mean boy again.

 

You were so young then, you didn’t understand. You couldn’t know. 

 

That’s how you met your soulmate.

 

\--

 

The Tapu’s are amusing, fickle, and can be unintentionally cruel. You remind yourself of this every year.  _ Every. Year _ . Because every new school year, as you step through the door into homeroom, you see two familiar faces. Kukui is, habitually, on the second row, near the aisle, and this makes you smile. He saves the actual aisle seat for you, so you can stick your leg out and bounce it aggressively. And every year he wave at you like he hadn’t just seen you yesterday while you two waste your last days of summer together.

 

Just as reliably brilliant as Kukui can be, Guzma is  _ also _ in your class. In the back, near the aisle, only one or two rows behind you. And he always looks at you when you come in. And every year, you wonder if people forgot how to dress the kid. You wave at him, and smile, and ask him how his summer went. Habitually, he calls you a name, and you sit in your seat beside Kukui and feel a pair of grey eyes staring at you like drills from the back of the class.

 

This gets easier as you get a little older, and the three of you form a tentative, somewhat antagonistic friendship.

 

When you turn eleven, you and your class are set free for a year. This is a traditional ritual, apparently, where the eleven-year-olds of the islands go through the Island Challenge. You have one year to complete it, before returning to your studies. When you learn about this, you’re excited. You and Kukui nearly vibrate out of your skin with the ideas of where you’d be going, and who you’d fight. The two of your make a pact that you’d battle one another at every step, testing and encouraging one another the entire way. 

 

“Psh,” the rough exhale makes both you and your best friend turn. Guzma is lurking again, all grins and too many teeth and fire in his eyes. He’s still too tall, way too tall. As you’ve gone through school, you’ve noticed him hunching a little more. Is he trying to hide? He’s too tall for that. Still, he pushes some of his too-long hair out of his face before pointing at you and Kukui both. “Ain’t no way you’ll beat  _ me _ . Because I’m going to be Kahuna after this. Ain’t never going back to that stupid school.”

 

“Yeah right,” You tease, smiling brightly. Your stutter, while present, no longer gets you picked on. Well, that’s not true. Guzma is still relentless about your stutter, or the way you bounce your leg, or the way you sway in your seat. But if anyone else  _ tries _ to bring it up, they find themselves thoroughly regretting it. And Guzma usually finds himself in detention.  _ Again _ . Kukui sticks up for you too, because he thinks your fidgets are just  _ unique, cousin! _ and thus nothing to poke fun at. But Guzma, being much bigger than the other kids and also strangely very talented in strength, seems more effective. 

 

You never  _ actually _ thank Guzma for his quite protective streak, mostly because that would be  _ totally uncool, dude _ , but you are nevertheless grateful. 

 

“I’m winning first,” you shout, hands going in the air. “Me and Cutiefly, we’re the best!’

 

“Nah way,” Kukui fist-pumped a few times. “Litten and I are going to  _ bust _ it!”

 

“Not going to happen,” Guzma reminds, hand going to sweep his hair out of his face. “Wimpod and I got this on lock.”

 

“It’s a deal then,” Kukui pipes back up. “From now on, we’re rivals. You bother better do you best, cousins!”

 

“Hell yeah,” Guzma throws a peace sign (and you gasp from the  _ bad word _ ). “Put up a fight or it’ll just bore me!”

 

“Never going to win,” you chime, doing a happy dance. You three laugh about it, and introduce each other to your pokemon, and share a malasada together before parting ways to prepare. You’re all leaving within the week to start your lessons, and you all have plans on how best to pack up for that.

 

\--

 

You fight a lot. At first, it’s hard. Cutiefly is hard working though, just like you. Not long after you begin your trip, you come across a lump on the sand that turns out to be a Mareanie. It’s tired and tried out, and you dip it in the water, and it clings to your arm. Once you treat your minor scratches at the pokecenter, you catch the little clingy creature in a pokeball--add it to your tiny team. 

 

You meet Kukui  _ a lot _ . You fight regularly. His Litten is strong, and can wipe out Cutiefly in no time flat. But when Mareanie takes out the Litten and you win your first real battle against him, it lights a fire under you both. Your trials continue, and you grind your way through it. A Vullaby joins your party, and then a Happiny, and then a Zubat. Near the end of your trials, a Comfey joins you party. 

 

You make it through your trials in November. Kukui, unsurprisingly, had blown through everything. He finished back in September, and though you finished after him, you finished strong. You’re awarded you certificate and Kukui and you rejoice. On one hand though, it feels empty. For an entire year, you and Kukui had been battling each other and other trainers. You’d dedicated yourselves fully to the development of your team. 

 

Neither of you had ever fought Guzma. In fact, when the two of you sat down to discuss everything, neither of you had even seen him during your trials. That hurts, a litte. Had he been avoiding you? Had he done so well he finished way early? Over dinner at Kukui’s house, you both make an agreement. You’re going to go and check on him. If he did so well, he’d want to brag right? 

 

It’s a poor decision.

 

When you arrive at that lonely house up the hillside, you hear yelling. You hug Comfey closer to you, and she coos softly, laying her ring of flowers around your neck comfortingly. Kukui nods once, determined, and knocks on the door. You’re too nervous, the yelling is  _ loud _ , and you worry Comfey’s soft petals between your fingers. 

 

The yelling stops abruptly. There is silence, it goes on long enough that you start trying to make motions to chew on Comfey’s flower petals, before the door swings open. And you and Kukui are struck dumb by it. 

 

Guzma has the door yanked open. His eyes are red and wet, and he’s wearing board shorts and a t-shirt. But the left sleeve is nearly ripped off, exposing his shoulder. That’s about as far as you get, because your eyes linger there. Belatedly, you realize you’ve never seen Guzma outside of your school’s uniform. He never comes to hang out after class or on weekends. You’ve never seen him over the summers. You’ve never see him out of his uniform.

 

You’ve never seen those three dots, in a distinct triangle, connected by thin interlocking lines. The same little symbol sits on your own left shoulder, and you absently worry at your own sleeves. 

 

The yelling begins again, much closer and much louder, and you cry out in surprise at the abrupt change in noise level.

 

“I said get OUT OF HERE,” Guzma screams. He screams it so loud his voice cracks, and he’s shaking. “Take stupid there and just GO THE FUCK AWAY.” Somewhere in the house, someone else starts yelling about language. “GO AWAY!” Guzma slams the door in your faces, and you clutch at Comfey like a lifeline. Her tiny body is small and soft in your hands, and you pet her with your thumbs vigorously. Even as you start to sniffle, start to cry, she coos and releases soft plumes of sweet-smelling pollen into the air. She wants to comfort you, you can tell, but it isn’t working.

 

Kukui, for his part, looks rattled. You’ve never seen him so pale. He turns to you, and you grit your teeth against a sob and look back. Neither of you move for a moment. There’s more yelling inside the house, and then there’s a  _ crash _ . The kind of crash that signals Bad Things. More screaming, someone’s crying, and something else breaks inside the house.

 

“Let’s get going, Cuz, we need to make tracks.” Kukui grabs your arm and hurries away with you. You go with him, feet on autopilot, and don’t look back.

 

The yelling seems to follow you down the hill. It rattles around inside your brain the whole Tauros Ride back to your house. Kukui doesn’t look like he wants to leave, but it’s late, and you both need to sleep. So he leaves you with a hug, a reassurance that it’ll be okay. And one request.

 

“Don’t go back there without me, deal?” He frowns down at you. He’s taller than you now--not as tall as Guzma, who is a giant to you now, but taller. You nod, sniffling weakly, and cradle a cooing Comfey close to your chest. “Cool. Thanks. Go get Chansey to sing to you and go to bed, okay? And lets...um. Let’s not tell our moms about what happened.”

 

“O-okay,” you whisper. He hugs you again, and then he’s gone.

 

You lay in bed that night, Comfey on your pillow and Chansey curled up in her nest of blankets. As Chansey begins to sing you a lullaby, you hear that horrible crash in your head again. You hear the agonized screaming that followed. It haunts you while you sleep.

 

Guzma’s  _ go away!  _ becomes  _ help me _ ! and you cry when you wake up again.

 

\--

 

Guzma doesn’t come to school anymore.

You return to classes at the beginning of the next year in mid-January. Not everyone finished their trials. You and Kukui are the stars of the class--you two ended up with the best overall show of growth. That being said, before you can officially start your next year in class, you have to take placements. You may have been out of the classroom for a year, but you still had required work and studies. 

 

You both place in the same class, and you’re delighted. Still, it’s strange, sitting down for your first day. Just like every year before, you and Kukui sit in the second row near the aisle. But there’s no awkward giant behind you to wave at. No curly hair and grey eyes. Guzma doesn’t tease you at recess, doesn’t make pretend efforts to steal your dessert at lunch. It leaves a strange hole in your heart that you’re too young to understand.

 

Thinking about Guzma hurts. You aren’t sure why. You’re not sure why thinking about his matching mark makes you want to flap your hands excitedly. Or why thinking about going to see him makes you panic. Or why him being gone leaves you sad, or anxious, like you’ve forgotten something important.

 

\--

 

You learn about soulmates when you turn thirteen. That you, and your soulmate, have matching marks in the same position on your bodies. 

 

It’s been two years, and Guzma still doesn’t come to school. You’ve mostly forgotten about him, except that you haven’t entirely because that black mark on your shoulder makes you wonder every time you see it. And after you turn thirteen, and you learn what a soulmark is, you know why.

 

You don’t cover it up. You don’t show it off, but you don’t hide it, either. 

 

Kukui doesn’t seem to remember the mark matching yours on Guzma’s arm, but then, he probably doesn’t remember that disaster as well as you do. As starkly as you do.  _ That scream _ like you do.

 

\--

 

Your first year of secondary school brings a lot of news. That Guzma, a long-time classmate, has gotten in trouble with the law for stealing from a store. The kids whisper about it, because it’s nearly unheard of in Alola.  _ Stealing _ ? Everyone is so generous, mostly they just hand out things. Especially if kids seem like they’re lacking, people are more than happy to step up to fill what they need. But  _ stealing _ .

 

The stories continue, about him being caught stealing more things. A bike, some food, some clothes. You frown more and more. Kukui tries to comment on it, trying to argue that maybe Guzma had a good reason. But the damage it done, and the stories inflate. People associate the name with the crime now.

 

A pesky kid, they say. Ornery. Pernicious. Mean, rude, a hoodlum. 

 

The crimes escalate; vandalism. Breaking a window.

 

“I guess you weren’t kidding,” Kukui says one day over lunch. The both of you are outside, sitting in a sunny patch of grass. Comfey is bouncing around excitedly chasing Kukui’s Rockruff. “He really is a mean boy.”

 

“...maybe,” you say softly. It’s been several years since you’ve seen Guzma, admittedly. Things change. He never completed his trials, you know that. Maybe he just...couldn’t. Didn’t have the heart in it. Maybe he--

 

“I guess we dodged a bullet,” Kukui doesn’t seem entirely convinced, though. “I wouldn’t want to be caught up in that stuff.”

 

“Do you think he wants to be?” When you look up, Kukui is frowning at his own lunch, worrying a corner of his napkin. You watch him for a long time, and he doesn’t seem to mind the silence for once. 

 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I can hope not, though.”

 

\--

 

You cover up your mark on your arm in second year. There’s one major reason for this; Guzma comes back to school.

 

You show up for class your first day of homeroom, second year, and there he is. He’s in the back row again, like he’d always been there waiting. But he’s changed, he’s changed  _ so much _ . You find yourself pausing in the door, just standing there, until another couple of students politely ask you to move. 

 

He’s _so much taller_ , you think, eyes wide. He’s cut his hair, it’s so short on the sides. It’s long on top, covering part of his face. He’s got a black hoop in each ear, like gauges, and his nail polish (he paints his nails?) is chipping. He doesn’t wear his tie, or his school jacket, and he’s focused on his phone which sits on his desk.   
  
The desks on either side of him are entirely empty. No one seems to want to get too close. 

 

“Cousin!” Kukui is beaming at you. Kukui’s change a lot too, you realize. He’s taller now, has been steadily growing taller. Puberty is strong with him, and he’s starting to fill out into a stocky, strong young man. Admittedly, he’s handsome. But he’s also been your friend since you were six, and you didn’t really think much beyond that. His changes had been gradual, things you’ve gotten used to. Guzma was...new.

 

Just new.

 

Kukui waves you towards your usual aisle seat, and you move to go to it only to stop in your tracks. Guzma’s head shifts just enough, and you can see him watching you through the long fringe of hair. The area around his eye seems to be a strange color, like a bruise. His fingers stop, and he sits up properly, and he is  _ so tall _ and he has a black eye, and he stares at you like he’d never seen another human being before. 

 

You wave hesitantly, ducking your head, and hurry into your seat. Kukui smiles at you awkwardly, and you mumble something about being tired still, and tuck your backpack beneath your chair. 

 

“I know,” Kukui says back, and you know for a fact is has nothing to do with either of you being tired. You look up at your childhood friend, who is busy getting his books out. While he’s occupied, you twist to peek over your shoulder.

 

Guzma is still staring at you.

 

The teacher walks in--a tall man with shaggy hair and a bored expression, and you sit back up properly in your chair. 

 

It had been years since you sat through a class, feeling like someone was watching you the entire time. You’d almost forgotten the feeling. This time, though, you know it’s Guzma. And this time, for some reason, you blush steadily through the entire class.

 

Sometimes the Tapus can be funny, fickle...or cruel.


End file.
